Circumstance
by DireSphinx
Summary: Sometimes, Shinichi swore, God had a personal vendetta against him. Then something like this would happen to make him question whether he might be a little too hasty with his condemnations against the Almighty.


Okay, it is official. I cannot write a drabble to save my life. This was supposed to be a nice, less than 1000 word humorous plunny, and see how it grew? And I admit this is slightly cracky, but a ton of fun to write. Even if it's now four in the morning and I'll be getting less than five hours of sleep. Totally worth it.

Don't own Detective Conan. But I would like to own Gin's hat. Think he'll sell it?

* * *

Sometimes, Shinichi swore, God had a personal vendetta against him.

He could handle being shrunk. Really, he could. It totally sucked 95.63% of the time, but usually he could grin and bear it. And having to lie to Ran every single day, watch her cry and tear out a piece of his soul with red-hot pliers, while making him feel like he was condemned to an ever-increasing level of Hell, that he could tolerate. _Barely_. And only because it was Ran's life at stake. Anyone else...screw em.

But God liked to throw a few curveballs every now and then to make Shinichi ponder the idea of following Kratos's example and sticking a sword through Mr. O' High and Mighty. Like Ran in a towel. Ran in drenched clothing. Ran in a little black dress. Ran in red lingerie that Sonoko had insisted she buy to remind Shinichi to get the hell back already. And said Shinichi being unable to. Do. A. Damn. Thing. About. It. God seriously needed a new hobby. That or get laid.

And then when God wasn't trying to mess with his damn hormones and flaunt what he couldn't have right in front of him, he'd stick him in a situation like this. Trapped behind a metal bench on an abominably hot day, hoping and praying that the two black bastards sitting on said bench won't look backwards...

Would anyone be ticked if he offed the creator of the universe?

Surely not. It's a justifiable homicide. Not a judge in the world would convict him.

He just knew he shouldn't have put that necklace in his pocket today. Surely the necklace would fit in any jewelry box he bought. He didn't have to bring it to compare box sizes and styles. Ran would be happy even if it came wrapped in newspaper, right?

Ah, who was he kidding? Of course the box the necklace came in would be important. This was a girl for crying out loud. When didn't the packaging matter?

This is what he gets for trying to give Ran something romantic for...what was it again? Easter? Children's Day? The Emperor's Birthday? No...it's not that. Valentine's Day? Her birthday? Still no...Damn, it was something important...

Oh yeah! Guy Fawkes Night! _"Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot."_ Surely every good boyfriend gives their wonderful girlfriends romantic gifts on Guy Fawkes Night, what with the burning effigies and the paying tribute to a terrorist that attempted to blow up Parliament...never mind the fact that this was Japan, and Guy Fawkes Night was an English holiday...

...Or maybe Shinichi was just looking for an excuse to give Ran a tracer-laced necklace...

What? She could be kidnapped, or lost, or be kidnapped and escape and be stranded in the middle of nowhere while coming down with a sudden case of amnesia and no idea how to get home. It could happen!

Maybe...

Possibly...

Perhaps...

Alright, not bloody likely, but still! Someone should be able to keep track of her in case not bloody likely ever happens. So what if the duty fell upon him? He'd make sure Ran was safe at all times! Even if 'at all times' would probably result in nothing more than learning where Ran liked to shop in the Harajuku district. And Shinichi would subtly ignore the persistent little voice in the back of his head congratulating him for accomplishing step one in Stalking for Midgets: Find a way to keep track of her 24/7.

It wasn't stalking if it was done for her well-being.

If only that thief hadn't decided to pick his pockets, he wouldn't be in this predicament. Who the hell picks the pockets of a, for all intents and purposes, seven year old boy? Some loser hoping to find rare Kamen Yaiba trading cards? Seriously! But pick his pockets he did, and run away with said necklace he ran. Good thing Shinichi had his handy dandy stun-gun wristwatch!

(And he really needed to stop watching Blue's Clues with the Shounen Tantei. Certain phrases were starting to creep into his vocabulary, and it wasn't doing his reputation a lick of good. Ran still cracks up whenever he brings her the mail. Say "Mail Time!" once, and you're screwed for life. Why couldn't there be some other kid-friendly mystery show?)

So without further ado, and a silent vow to never, ever watch another episode of Blue's Clues ever again, (unless it was to torture Heiji) Shinichi popped up his cross-hairs, lined the villain in sight, and badabing, badaboom, one knocked out thief at your service. He'd just ignore the passersby who were granting him the strangest of looks and staying clear out of watch range. What did he look like, some kid who would shoot at anyone if it served his purpose?

...Not going to answer that.

But hey! Crystal clear path to the thief! And what could that shiny golden thing be in his left hand? A wedding ring? Pffft, a guy who steals from little kids can hardly land himself a girl. Unless said girl was an even worse kleptomaniac than this loser. Shouldn't doubt the possibility. There are crazy people in this world. Willy Wonka's golden ticket? Nah, that contest ended three months ago. A technology-enhanced heart necklace? Ding ding ding ding! We have a winner! Just one slight little problem...

The damn pickpocket won't let go.

Shouldn't people relax when they go unconscious? Kogoro falls into a heap every time he's stunned, makes it almost too easy to position him for his grand deductions. Why the hell won't this guy's hand just give up? Tugging on the hand won't work. Kicking the hand won't work. Shooting the hand with another stun dart still won't work. Why did he convince Dr. Agasa to upgrade his stun dart capacity if this was the result? And he was ignoring the strange looks from the gathering crowd. Ignoring the strange looks from the crowd. Ignoring! It's more important to get that necklace to keep tabs on Ran then worry about the passersby who probably think he's a few colors short of a rainbow.

What to do, what to do...

Hmmm...

That could work...

But that would be evil...and cement every spectator's assumption that this boy is a few crayons short of a Crayola box.

But on the other hand...it would get the necklace back...and it can't be too evil if it's done in Ran's name...

Sigh...

Ran, you owe Shinichi a new red lingerie ensemble for this.

And with all the strength a seventeen going on seven year old boy could muster, Shinichi went and kicked the thief in the place right next to where the sun don't shine. A collective groan emerged from his audience as the thief's eyes bugged open wide, and hands went to cradle his injured person. A kick there would wake up anyone from the land of the unconscious. The necklace, which had previously been clutched in a death vice, went sailing over the crowd into parts unknown. Keeping a close eye on the flying jewelry, Shinichi ran after his prize, sparing not a second glance for the wounded man who lay crying, wondering if he would ever be able to once again enjoy the finer things in life.

Not surprisingly, the crowd parted before the running lad. One shouldn't stand in the way of crazy people. It just wasn't polite. Or safe. But it mostly wasn't polite. The Japanese are a very well-mannered people, and would hate to offend anyone, no matter their sanity level. So _cough_ detectives _cough_ crazy people first.

Of course, Shinichi wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his Moses-like path through the crowds. His eyes were trained on the necklace flying overhead. And really, shouldn't that thing be falling down now? How aerodynamic can a piece of jewelry be? Probably depends on the piece of jewelry. They say diamonds soar farther than emeralds, but what of gold and cubic zirconium?

Yes, cubic zirconium. What, did he look like he was made out of money? Sorry to disappoint, but diamonds cost quite the pretty penny. A man can only spend so much on his beloved. And he'd had to shell out the big bucks on that The Sign of the Four novel...

...It was a first edition! How could he say no to a first edition? Any Sherlock Holmes fan would do the same!

But fortunately for Shinichi, the necklace appeared to be approaching the earth once more. With an extra burst of speed, he shot off after the descending golden piece, causing a slight stampede as people frantically dashed out of his path. Kicking one old man out of the way – luckily for the man his super sneakers weren't turned on – Shinichi was able to glimpse the necklace falling behind some rickety black bench along the sidewalk. Diving like a left-fielder after a pop fly, he launched himself behind the bench and began frantically to search for the elusive gift.

Surprisingly, it was hard to find. Who knew a gold necklace could blend in so well with dirt? Damn it all, he couldn't lose the blasted thing now! Not until it was safely placed around Ran's pretty neck for the rest of her life. So here he was on his hands and knees, sweat dripping from every pore, blindly feeling for some trace of worked metal.

The things he'd do for stalking...uh, Ran. The things he'd do for Ran. No stalking at all involved. Nope, not a drop. Wouldn't dream of stalking Ran. Never ever. Not even in a million years.

And he thought he was fooling himself...

Just then, a shadow fell against the sunlit bars illuminating Shinichi's search area. He looked up, violent tongue lashing poised on his lips even while he secretly reveled in the slight coolness of the shade, only to find two entities in black blocking his view. Two entirely too familiar entities in black blocking his view.

Gin and Vodka.

Of all the times to run across the Black Organization, did it have to be now? Now, when he was sweaty and grimy and ticked off at his utter inability to find one GPS-encoded necklace? Couldn't it wait until he'd at least had a shower and access to an AK-47? No, of course not. That would be too easy. And heaven forbid anything should ever be easy.

God, you may be laughing your ass off up there, but one of these days, one of these days...You'd better be prepared for one of these days. It might be a lot sooner than you think.

At least they hadn't noticed him yet. That was some good luck, Shinichi supposed. They'd just plopped down on the bench, muttering something about "damned clear aisle all the way down, like an open invitation, but wouldn't mind sitting down, blasted devil heat, why the hell was the sidewalk clear?" Vodka started to pull out his Browning Hi-Power, but Gin silenced the action with a look. No need to draw attention to themselves.

Like the black trench coats weren't anything but conspicuous in this heatwave.

And now here he was, stuck behind some dingy black bench, sweating buckets upon buckets. And along with sweating from the heat, he was terrified of discovery from the two black organization operatives sitting less than two feet away from him. It was too hot to sweat from heat and fear. Even in his navy blue jacket crouching in the shade, Shinichi was burning up.

Gods and devils, it was HOT!

How the hell did they stand wearing all that black? Was it some clause in the contract? _Every member of the Black Organization, no matter what the locale or temperature, must wear an absurd amount of black every hour of every day, until the day you are murdered, commit suicide, assassinated, poisoned, die of Ebola, spontaneously combust, or killed in any manner not specified above. This includes old age, which while not having actually occurred for any of our members, is still considered a viable __means of death._

And Gin was wearing a black hat for goodness sakes! How he wasn't frying his brain cells from the relentless burn of Mr. Golden Sun under that leather heat-trap, Shinichi couldn't begin to guess. Ice cubes? Mini air-conditioning system? Liquid Nitrogen?

As if hearing Shinichi's unspoken distress, Vodka looked over at his partner and grunted, "I can't believe you'd wear that hat in this weather. Are you mad? Or just that vain?"

"I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that we've had this discussion once already today," Gin replied under a waterfall of sweat.

"But that was at nine this morning, and the temperature's gone up at least twenty degrees. You must be roasting under that hat," Vodka exclaimed.

"Boiling actually, but it's none of your damn business," Gin bit out.

Shinichi wondered just when the hell Gin and Vodka acquired pretentious accents. It's fairly disturbing to hear two murderers having a civilized conversation. Even more so when they act British.

_Somewhere on the other side of Tokyo, Hakuba Saguru sneezes. Then goes back to being British._

Vodka tries the rational approach. "You know, no one would notice if you wouldn't make such a big deal out of it. It's not even that big, just the size of a ten-yen coin."

"Shut up Vodka," Gin spits through his teeth. Wow, Shinichi could hear Gin's molars grinding against one another. And he thought that was only an expression.

"Seriously, just comb some hair over the spot and no one would even notice."

Suddenly standing, Gin screamed out at his partner, "I do NOT do comb-overs!"

This loud outburst caught the attentions of quite a few passersby, and one very intrigued little boy. Startled by the sudden silence, Gin glared at the crowds, who quickly moved on, and made as if to strangle Vodka's beefy neck. Made, but not accomplished because Vodka had quite the thick neck. Gin's hands just wouldn't fit around. Lucky Vodka.

Hissing in fury, the blond man raged against the other man dressed in black. "What have I told you about mentioning my bald spot? No one mentions my bald spot. No one. And no one who wants to live ever suggests I do a fucking comb-over."

Now Shinichi had been in a state of heightened interest ever since the two operatives had begun to converse. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer was the perfect motto for his situation. And the subject matter was so engaging...

Suddenly, as if struck my lightning, Shinichi was hit with the most hair-brained, dangerous, idiotic, and utterly brilliant idea to ever grace his cunning mind. Implementation of said idea would more than likely result in his untimely demise. 98% chance of grisly death to be exact. That's a large percentage.

But the possible results from said idea danced temptingly in his mind. Only a 2% chance of success. Clutching Ran's necklace that he'd finally found only a moment before, Shinichi smirked.

What was that quote? _"You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?"_

Why yes he did.

**IIIII**

"Got anything else you'd like to say Vodka?" Gin all but snarled in Vodka's face.

Vodka opened his mouth to speak, but instead of a simple no, two pairs of ears picked up his voice smugly replying, "Have you tried Rogaine?"

* * *

You know, it wasn't until I wrote "handy dandy stun-gun wristwatch" that I realized Blue's Clues is a mystery show. And if it's a mystery show, Shinichi would probably have watched it. This realization, and the idea of Shinichi even thinking in Blue's Clues lingo, has made my night. "We just figured out Blue's Clues, we just figured out Blue's Clues, we just figured out Blue's Clues, because we're really smart!"

Apologies for the random Hakuba reference. It's four in the morning. My mind refuses to let me delete it on grounds of sleep-deprived humor.

And to think, the initial reason for writing this was to pose the idea of Gin with a bald spot. Hope this amused you as much as it amused me!


End file.
